


Draw Me Something

by Ramona3x3



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Childhood, Childhood Memories, Counseling, Elementary School, Gen, Humanstuck, Therapy, counseling session
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-05
Updated: 2015-07-04
Packaged: 2018-03-29 03:09:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3879979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ramona3x3/pseuds/Ramona3x3
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A one-shot (may evolve with time, but not for the time being) about Gamzee and invasive guidance counselors.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Maybe slightly OOC, but the ten year old isn't into sopor, and human society functions a lot less independently than troll society. With this accounted for, this can be reasonably acceptable for this fandom.

Nineteen heads rested in air, turned towards the door. A blonde woman in a burgundy dress jacket was halfway in the door, beckoning the teacher over before guarding their exchange with her neon green clipboard.

Gamzee rose  from his seat, knowing full well what this was. The class new, too, but not really why. They had asked him about it, and he always made up some deflection on the fly; he was told not to discuss the meetings.

"Oh! Uh, Gamzee? Okay, okay, you're already going. Class,"

He slid down her back as if she was coated in cellophane, blown off. It was awkward between them, but perhaps if she would stop handling him like delicate merchandise he could apologize. Adults were weird. Same with Ms. Mason- who knows why she wants to talk to him. Never asking about anything important, just trying to have a one-sided feelings jam.

"How are you, today?"

"Today" was always conditional when she talked; he noticed it but couldn't place a terminology to the specific kind of uncomfortable it was.

"Okay, I guess."

"Really? That's good. Anything interesting happen today?"

"Yeah. I did better on a test."

"Wow! What did you get?"

The answers fell out of him as she kept asking, no matter how invasive it all felt. They finally came to the door of her office and entered the haven of outright ocular assault. She led him to the round table and gathered her rolling chair from her desk, he sat watching in a green plastic chair. She fidgeted around again to collect a blue box of markers before setting it before him. With it came a sheet of paper with a jagged outline, two thirds under a waveline.

"Okay, I want you to read what it says out loud."

She asked for him to do a lot of pointless stuff, too, but he did it.

"This is what you see, but if you really knew me... Yeah."

"Yes. The small top of the iceberg is what I want you to tell me how you act with your friends. How people see you. The bottom is what they wouldn't know. Maybe I don't even know."

As he accepted the task at hand and uncapped a black marker, she interrupted one last time.

"I'm here to talk any time."

Slowly, he etched "angry" across the top; he knew it wasn't a secret. Following it laid a ball in motion, "friendly" accompanied by the smallest recognizable question mark, and "happy". His eyes trailed back to her; she was reading what he had written and scribbling furiously on her legal pad.

"I want to ask you something a little early. Why did you say both 'angry' and 'happy'?"

"Cuz they used to say I was... Uh, the teachers don't like me anymore."

"I'll let you think about-"

"No, no, I... I know what I wanna say. I smile at the teachers, and they don't really know how to answer. I messed up, and now they just think I'm like that all the time. They still put the kids that don't talk in my groups, and they smile sometimes, but then they think about it."

"I see. You can keep talking, but I want you to fill out the bottom now."

Under it came "sorry", "alone", and "wishing" as he continued to talk, aided by her gentle questions. He was talkative, and she took advantage of it. He needed help, or someone to talk to, regardless. If he had clammed up (and he had the first two times), she just let him color and say what he would to her every now and then.

"I really, really wanna say I'm sorry- I already have, but they don't... I don't think they _heard_ me, they just put up with it. I guess it's okay."

"Why would it be okay for them not to listen to you?"

"I... I messed up. I don't get another chance."

"But, you said last week that you let your little friend try again at that game because it was the right thing."

"It's right for Tavbro, but _I_ just don't get another one."

"Gamzee,"

She put her hand on his shoulder and he lifted his head to look her in the eyes. Then, her lightly glossy lips smiled down at him with the sweetest face she could muster up.

"Why not? You're a very sweet boy, you're very kind, and you worry a whole lot about how people feel around you. You're not a bad kid."

"I don't know."

She looked down at the paper, and there were two more words, "noisy" and "me", along with a collection of lines taking the form of a very pointy face-monster.

"Gamzee, why don't you tell me what 'wishing' means? That's an interesting word to choose." Her hand snuck to his opposite shoulder, her arm acting as a warm blanket over his shoulders

"I want a lot of stuff. Like, I want to have three friends. I wanna talk to people. I wanna..."

"Are you okay?"

Shaking, the boy capped the marker and set it down before rubbing his face with his hands. He knew he couldn't talk about Dad with her, even though he didn't like the secret. It was scary being at home when it was dark. Gunshots across town heard, but no one else in the house to protect him. It wasn't his business. No one he knew was dying. But, they were dying. And they might drive up his street one day. Unless he was dreaming the whole thing- Dad used to hate it when he talked about the crazy stuff playing around in his head.

"Don't- It's okay to cry."

It was always so hard to describe, feeling angry when the other half of him didn't want to be. Wanting things he couldn't ever have. The crazy colors and the voices that would talk when no one was around to hear him answer them. What he used to draw until he saw they were ugly- they were _so_ loud that day. The friends who didn't like him anymore that- unfortunately- were very real. How they would stare. He wanted to apologize to them, too. Karkat didn't mind, but he just was so abrasive. He never really cared unless you made him worry, and it didn't feel good to make him worry. He shouldn't have said anything, but here he was with more words forcing a bettering ram out of his teeth.

"I.. I lied, Miss Mason..."

"What? When?"

"I hate today!"

She slid from her chair to kneel at his level and to wrap her arms around him, feeling as he struggled to wipe his eyes without more falling. His hair, nice on top, knotty on the bottom itched and he needed to get out, but at the same time, he wanted to touch her.

So, he turned and hugged her back.

The real reason why he put up with everything she asked was to get these miraculous hugs. No one else at home was there to hug him anymore, no more bedtime kisses if there ever were any. Tav was gone from school every time the courage could be mustered up, and Karkat hated to be touched.

She rubbed his back in time with her breathing, and it was the most wonderful warmth he could have asked for.


	2. The Root of Rage (and the Problem with Homework)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A movie sparks conversation about feelings, and feelings fall immediately into a tangle when met by another set of problems coming up.

"You can come in any time to talk, okay? It's not good to ignore what you feel; remember what we talked about?"

"It is normal and encouraged to express what emotions one feels."

"Good. Okay, Equius? You can go back to class now."

She was almost happy to have him out of her office- even though this was the first time she's had to deal with him. He had slammed his face into his desk so hard that it left a mark, but remained stoic. His new teacher was worried, already paranoid from having Gamzee in her class. Speaking of which, she had just gotten him out of the last two hours or so of school to have some hardcore mediation. She'd planned this for a month with his teacher, because she knew he wouldn't have been able to attend anything she had planned to do to show the film after school hours. Added to his late work he'd somehow collected so early in the year, he probably wouldn't have been able to attend the in school presentation. Mrs. Atkins agreed very willingly- she wanted nothing to do with a kid who managed to throw a desk across the room. Ms. Mason still hadn't gotten Gamzee to talk about why he did that.

What Mrs. Atkins wanted was for the school counselor of all people to whip him into shape. He was distracted, jittery, and an "annoyance to her classroom environment". Usually, he was doing anything but what she wanted him to do. Ironic, given her "favorite" student had become so pressured not to fail that he began hiding his frustrations only to nearly scream at her later, lest he (this being a quite) "break the chain on the swing set and break a window with it". Her Equius would never have done that, but he stated it very plainly to Ms. Mason. Despite the teacher's apparent authoritarianism and system of merit on her will, she needed to have a talk to Gamzee about his distractions.

Nevertheless,  _Inside Out_ was something important in the conversation of child psychology, and she needed a strong way to start to talk about feelings with Gamzee, as well. She needed to understand, and he needed to learn how to recognize and think about his emotions- so she said to herself. He was already pretty knowledgeable about what he felt, she really just needed to know more. God knows she had the questions.

A few minutes behind schedule, he walked into her office with his backpack, the same worn-thin one from last year. It was his older brother's.

"Hey"

"Hello, you're right on time. I don't know if you've been told why I wanted to see you today s-"

"Did I do something again?"

"What?"

He wasn't distant as she had feared, just looking something similar to ashamed as he began to explain himself.

"You know, you started wantin' to talk to me after I f- messed up, an' I thought I wouldn't get to come here no more after the school year ended."

"Watch your language- Well, you didn't do anything wrong, and I'm not here to punish you. I talk to a lot of other kids, some of them are even in your class. You're not the only one, but at the same time, you're special. Do you know what I mean by that?"

"Yeah..."

She knew he didn't quite believe her at face value, but now she knew he did like to talk to her. It was all in word choice; she gave herself a mental pat on the back, and smiled.

"I think you'll like what we're doing today; we're going to watch a movie! I didn't know if you'd have time to go back to class, which is why I wanted you to just bring your things. Go ahead and take a seat."

She began setting it up, and heard the familiar flatulence of the beanbag when he sank into it. When it had come on to the screen, she scurried off beside him in the adjacent beanbag chair and squashed the impression of the seven year old that had sat there before.

Watching the movie was nice, even when she'd watched it on loop too many times to count in order to analyze it. He laughed when something was funny, was serious when it wasn't, and nearly died at the  "perfect boyfriend" machine.

"Girls are weird."

"Yeah, and she's eleven, too, like a lot of the girls in your class."

"Oh man... girls are so weird."

When it ended, he was smiling at the screen- How funny, he didn't seem to lose attention during the film.

"Well, did you like it?"

"Yeah, it was pretty cool."

"I had some things I wanted to talk to you about.", she began, as she turned her bean bag to face him.

"So, what did you think of Headquarters?"

"It makes a whole lotta sense because when you feel something, it's like it tells you all what to do, even if you don't really wanna do it."

"Like how Riley cried in her new class, and sadness couldn't stop touching things?"

"Yeah. Just like that."

She held her ground for a minute to pause, debating on how she should make this personal. Of course, he might clam up again, but she had to try. And so, she put a little bit of her own experience on the line, to make it less of an interrogation.

"This might not be a good example, but when a little younger than you, I had something like that. A girl in my class had some barbeque sauce in her hair, and my Disgust told me it was gross. And, I told her this right to her face without thinking the consequence would be her crying. I found out later that she was really fun, and I wanted to be friends with her. She forgave me, but I still felt really bad for letting Disgust drive me. Do you want to tell me when something like that happened to you?"

She had done it; it was too much. She knew what it meant when he looked at his hands like that, but he still started to talk.

"Last week, I didn't do our first book report, and Mizz Atkins sent me home with a note. I had to get it signed by my dad, and he won't up and happy about it. He kept asking me, 'Why didn't you do it? You need to straighten up, Gamzee. You're not listening!' an'... and I started to cry n' stuff in front of my dad and Kurloz during dinner and they kept asking me stuff. I didn't have a good answer, I said I didn't know and then they told me that I did know but I didn't..."

"Gamzee, do you want to draw me something? Here- you can keep talking."

She unclipped her papers from her clipboard and put a sheet of clean paper in it's place, then handed it to him as well as the cup of markers. Slipping her heels off, she walked around behind him and turned one of the plastic chairs from the table to sit in and watch over his shoulder.

"I don't know why I don't do that stuff, but I don't want to make anyone mad. I know the stuff..."

He was nearly repeating himself, drawing some kind of scary animal with more sharp edges eating him and his assignment book (clearly labeled), and a stick-figure hand drawing a very displeased pencil, then he began to draw someone with a very mean face, but no other details.

"...I'm too old to cry about stuff and Dad wants me to shut up but I can't!"

"Gamzee, please, listen. Remember in the movie-"

Looking over, the boy before her was very distraught, and stopped drawing to look at her. He had been talking this whole time, but this was the bundle of nerves she wanted to find.

"Remember when Riley hid her feelings to make her mom happy and she ended up feeling a lot worse? Feelings need to be expressed so you can work through them and feel better. You're not too old to cry, or to be scared, or angry, or even happy. Even as a grown-up, I cry sometimes. Your big brother has feelings, too, and you said your dad was angry when you told him about the book report. Everyone has hard feelings. Your dad might have gotten frustrated because he didn't expect you to cry when he was mad, but he doesn't want you to 'shut up'. I'm sure he loves you and your brother. It's not good to hold in what hurts us, like how you don't squeeze your hands around something spiky."

Gently, she put her hand on his shoulder, to be sure he hasn't gotten lost in his own thoughts looking at his hands again, and she rubbed quietly. Knowing when a kid is upset was part of her job description.

"Okay? Look at me for a second, please-"

There were his dark brown eyes looking up at her, his face downtrodden, but he wasn't crying. She didn't want to make him that upset today, it seemed almost cruel to send him off like that- but they had ten minutes.

"Feeling sad is normal, and crying isn't 'bad'. Everything you feel is there for a purpose. You're so smart, you're a great kid, and nothing is wrong with you for what you feel inside. You can come talk to me anytime during the day, too; I wish you could have come to talk to me about this the day after it happened, it seems like it really hurt you. If my door is closed, tell the secretary you needed to talk to me right then and she'll let you sit outside. Okay?"

"Alright..."

"It's nearly time to go, but have a treat."

She presented him with a bowl of candy, and he plucked out a chocolate still unnaturally unenthusiastic.

"Come here,"

To hopefully wrap things up a little sweeter, she got on her knees and hugged him as he still sat until she heard a sniffle and began to rub his back on queue. She was a counselor, dammit, and touching people incited a whole battery of soothing psychological principals. Besides, she had her background checks done. She wasn't a predator. He broke it first, smiling at her before he said goodbye and left in time for the bus bell to ring.

After that, the day was officially over, and her office empty again. She'd be taking her work home with her- she had a lot to worry about.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before I forget the link, I used a lot of what I had learned in http://www.joshshaine.com/insideout.html this document to be able to empathize more with underachieving youth that still fit into the gifted spectrum. That, and inspiration from the movie "Inside Out" put this shin-dig together. When I make another installment, Gamzee will likely be in high school, and be high in the literal sense.
> 
> However, I do have an ending planned, and it will be sadder than Jasper's funeral.

**Author's Note:**

> I work with children of this age group with my summercamp counsellorship, so the accuracy in his reactions is pretty solid from my judgement. Any problems? Shoot me a comment!


End file.
